


Velvet Cakes

by castingashadow



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Baking, M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-05-14 21:29:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19281538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/castingashadow/pseuds/castingashadow
Summary: Some years after the Apoca-wasn't, an angel and a demon moved into a small cottage near Tadfield. Some say to save on bills (which they miraculously never had), some say it was simply to keep an eye on each other (not entirely untrue). But in actuality, they were...simply in love. You'd think they would've realized it before 6,000 years and an apocalypse but they were both surprisingly oblivious to the other's pining and flirting. But that, my dears, is a story for another time. For now, let's drop in on the couple and see how they're doing.





	Velvet Cakes

The little kitchen in the cottage was bright and golden with morning light, ivies and ferns hanging from the ceiling to give a cozy feel to the room despite their occasional trembling from Crowley's 'encouragements' to grow nicely. But the plants were hardly the focus right now, no. Crowley's golden gaze was captured instead by a certain blonde angel bustling around with bowls and whisks in hand, to and fro from a very old cookbook to the little gas cooktop with a look of mild frustration and muttering to himself as he went. Something about 'what on _Earth_ was a gill of yeast, whoever came up with _that_ measurement...' and 'why would I dip my hands in _milk_ for this? I've got a perfectly good spoon...' But his muttering pretty much went unnoticed by the demon as he stared, moon-eyed and painfully in love at his angel.

 

Aziraphale, to his credit, had managed not to miracle up any ingredients or any part of the process for these... _what were they called again,_ oh yes, Velvet cakes. Delightful little recipe from The Farmer's Monthly Visitor from 1843, it was. It seemed like a perfectly acceptable little dessert to have with tea, but baking was proving to be rather a pain in the behind. Flour was smudged on every available surface, including himself, and the mess was enough to make him cringe. He could always miracle the light dusting of white away later of course...but it was the _principle_ of the thing. A few more moments of mixing in beef drippings into the floury mixture and Aziraphale felt long-fingered hands wrapping around his apron-clad waist, curling 'round him, not unlike a particularly affectionate snake. Soon a rather pointy chin found its way to his shoulder and he smiled.

 

“Crowley, darling...I'm trying to make these blasted things and you're an awfully big distraction. Now if you don't mind?” Aziraphale didn't really want the demon to leave,z of course not. But he'd act like he did to keep up the banter they'd built over the millennia. He did find himself leaning back into the embrace with a content sigh despite himself and tipping his head back for a kiss, which Crowley gladly delivered to his smiling mouth. Crowley simply shrugged and peppered a kiss to the underside of Aziraphale's jaw before stepping back, but that's when he noticed it; there was flour dusted all over his front from the back of the angel's sweater vest and the little shit was _laughing_ at him. It was perfectly shaped like the soft curves of Aziraphale's back.

 

Crowley just rolled his eyes and slipped his hand into the tub of flour with a contemplative look. “So...it's war, is it? Angel, angel, _angel..._ I thought we were past this.” He grinned and stuck his forked tongue out before cupping Aziraphale's jaw with his floury hand, leaning in for a little kiss. There was flour all along the soft line of his cheek and that pleased Crowley greatly...until Aziraphale snickered and tossed a little bit of the flour back in a little cloud that settled itself on the demon's black blazer. _Oh, it was on._

 

The next hour or so had them both tossing little bits of flour and dough and sugar at each other, giggling madly and completely ignoring the atrocious little cakes that lay forgotten in their bowl. A particularly aggressive throw of flour from Aziraphale had Crowley ruffling his red hair to rid it of the powder before he sneakily stepped into the angel's arms and set him up on the counter, arms around his soft waist and a smile on his lips even as he panted from the exertion. It wasn't necessary maybe, but breathing...felt nice, he supposed. How else was he supposed to smell his cologne and shampoo on Aziraphale's soft skin?

 

“Seems I've captured myself an angel... _A war criminal_ , no less.” He hissed out a laugh and drew himself up on his toes slightly to press a soft kiss to the angel's lips, cupping his round cheeks fondly and holding him in place as he did so. The flour was a slightly unpleasant grit under his fingertips but, well, he couldn't really be bothered too much by it when he felt Aziraphale's legs wrap around his thighs from his spot on the counter just a bit. If someone had come up to Crowley whilst he and this angel stood side-by-side, watching the first of mankind fighting a lion with a flaming sword that said angel had given them, and told him that in six thousand years or so he'd be propping _that same angel_ up on a fake marble countertop in a small cottage in Tadfield...well, he might likely have laughed himself into a coma. At that very moment, however, the demon Crowley couldn't think of a single place he'd rather be than wrapped up in the (admittedly floury and sticky) embrace of the angel.

 

_His_ angel.

 


End file.
